New beginnings are found when least welcome,

after tragic loss, or when the truth dies
under humid sheets (at least under some),
or when the plane leaves earth for the dark skies:
I've landed, I'm settled. I'm strong and free
from weak linkage, from wreckage, from control
at the pale hands of the uncontrolled sea
that emanates from un-knowing its role:
Should water find its own or sublimate
itself into vapid, reusable 
cycles of clouds and rain, of birth and mate
and end as a means, as a crucible:
Can't take the fire? Don't sit by the hearth!
I've too many dreams to just walk on earth.
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